Keep me company
by withered
Summary: "I had a nightmare." An interlude at Netherfield.


This story is unbeta-ed.

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Keep me company

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Everyone in Hertfordshire praised the Netherfield estate, dubbing it the jewel of the county.

Indeed, the dining rooms were sizable and the ballroom exquisite, but what Elizabeth was concerned about was the library. For all Miss Bingley's clever placement of furniture and choice of colours, what it lacked was its commodity: _books._

Exhaling quietly through her nose, she ran his fingers over the mostly bare shelves, trying to suppress the urge to flinch as she caught a wink of lightning through one of the windows.

Raising the candle to dispel some of the darkness around her, she found herself cursing her decision to leave her room.

Whilst at Longbourn when thunderstorms roused her from sleep, her only salvation was her father's bookroom, and Elizabeth hoped in vain that Mr. Bingley's collection would provide her with the necessary distraction to get her through the night.

How wrong she was!

Shivering as the clouds rolled, she stood in between two aisles of empty shelves and found herself swallowing her gasp of surprise. Several feet away, a figure stood shrouded in night one minute, and illuminated by lightning in another.

She exhaled. _It is just Mr. Darcy_.

Making for a retreat lest she was seen, her moment of shock seemed enough for him to realize that he was not alone.

Anger simmering just beneath the demanding timbre of his voice, he called out, "Who is there?"

Identifying herself by bringing the candle closer to chase the shadows away from her visage, she replied, "It is only me sir, I apologize for disturbing you."

Through the brewing storm just beyond the glass behind him, Elizabeth could have sworn he held his breath just then.

For several moments they stood in silence, unsure of what to do next.

They were not on particularly good terms since her arrival to Netherfield to help care for Jane. In fact, they were barely civil.

Beyond sharing meals together and withstanding the joint company of Miss Bingley, they had no cause to interact and when they did, their arguments were enough to annoy even Mr. Hurst out of his nap. She, for one, rather preferred it if they never spoke to one another. In fact, if they never had to share the same room at any point in time, she would be grateful!

When he was not disagreeing with her, it was his stare that unhinged her.

He had an intense way of looking at her that always made her feel like he was scrutinizing her – looking for mistakes, mentally cataloguing her flaws. Internally she sniffed. _What for_ , she wanted to demand, _I'm already barely tolerable enough for you._

His silence and unwavering stance in the unspoken accusation seemed unreasonably defiant to her, and that was when she realized she was letting her prejudice cloud her reasoning.

She was just agitated from the storm, the lack of sleep. She shook her head and lowered the candle.

Drawing her other arm about herself and tucking it between her other elbow, below her breast; she was suddenly aware of the fact that she was only dressed in her nightgown. Elizabeth cleared her throat. "I am sorry for bothering you," she repeated, "I was only looking for something to read."

"Please," he murmured quietly, almost gently, "do not let me stop you."

She bowed her head, and made to turn, catching his mutter as he turned back towards the window, "Though I would not be too hopeful in looking for a distraction, this room is full of shadows."

Finding his words rather odd, Elizabeth could not resist the need to inform him, "That is why you bring a candle, sir."

He made a noise then, possibly a cross between a snort and a chuckle before deciding that her little quip was an invitation to engage her further: "It is not enough."

No, she supposed. She could barely see in front of her own nose as it was. But unrelenting, she said, "Bright enough to find a book to read, I hope."

He made that noise again though it was slightly muffled in the rumble of thunder. "Not in Bingley's library."

"Is he not a great reader?" she asked, lingering in the aisle as the growl of the tempest vibrated through the air.

The rumble seemed louder, practically muting his reply. "Not at all."

Again, lightning flashed opening cracks in the darkness, and then abrupt stillness. As an afterthought, Mr. Darcy informed, "I just finished the last of his collection actually, would you be interested in it?"

Noticeably perking up at the suggestion for the majority of Mr. Bingley's collection was composed of novels she had already read, Mr. Darcy gestured at the small table before the divan. As she settled herself against the cushion, she picked up the tome and examined it. Apparently to Mr. Darcy's surprise.

"Would you not wish to read it in your room?"

"I do not have Mr. Bingley's permission to remove books from his library," Elizabeth informed, cracking the spine. "Besides, Jane is finally asleep; I do not wish to disturb her."

He inclined his head, and surprising her this time, he took his candle and placed it beside her as he took the empty seat on the arm chair diagonal to her. Admittedly, she was grateful for the extra bit of light and she allowed that she preferred his company over the grumblings of the storm.

Again they were quiet, though the very thought that Mr. Darcy's stare was made to intimidate her was enough to prove that she was not intimidated at all, she spoke, "Why are you awake so late, if I may ask sir?"

There was a flicker of hesitance upon his features, weighing the options of an honest admission and a comfortable lie, he choose rather hastily, the latter, "I simply could not sleep."

Making a rather unconvinced 'hm'-ming noise, she turned a page. Really, she could not expect much from the man. He barely spoke and when he did, he was entirely too rude for anyone's liking. Granted, ten thousand a year would be sufficient for some to overlook, Elizabeth at the very least allowed his blunt honesty to be both gift and curse.

She could not resist the urge to tell him so, "I always thought you an honest man sir; is it really necessary to prove me wrong?"

He pursed his lips, and asked instead, "Why are you awake so late, Miss Elizabeth?"

Intending to return with his reply, purely to irritate him, her plan was foiled by a crash of thunder so strong it felt like it shook the ground as it hit the earth. Even she saw the way her hands shook, and already, she could feel her flush of embarrassment.

"I shall make you deal: if I tell you why I am awake, you will tell me the real reason why you are."

There was just a hint of amusement in his features, appearing as fast as a wink of lightning and gone again in the darkness that cocooned them, bar their candles on the table.

"I think I know why you are up so late."

She shrugged. "Humor me anyway." When he made no reply, only continued to consider her in the dark, she offered a smile. "Come Mr. Darcy, there is no need for airs here, I have no intention of entrapping you and I highly doubt you mean to compromise me. What is a little honesty between strangers?"

Again, he was silent, and she made a big show of sighing in disappointment. "If you must know, regardless if you actually care to know, I am frightened of thunderstorms."

Outside, the skies seemed to rumble in agreement, and she swallowed the sudden panic she felt crawling up her spine. Focusing instead on her tale, she continued, "I am sure you are already aware of the particular pleasure I find rambling about in six inches of mud, and the cause of my fear is perhaps rooted in that."

His curiosity, however well hidden, was noted by her and she elaborated, "You see, I got lost one day when I was just a girl of seven and it began to rain. I was far from home with lightning cracking open the sky and thunder growling beneath my feet. In my childishness, I was terrified and even though it has been many years since then, I still am."

"Did you manage to get home?"

"No," she said with a wistful smile, "I tried to, but as I was on my way, a branch had been cut down during the storm, and sure that it would come for me next, I squeezed myself beneath the root of a tree and stayed there. Luckily my father realized I was gone and had sent footman to find me, but after that my mother barred me from leaving the house until I 'gained some common sense'."

He actually chuckled. "Perhaps it was a good idea."

"Perhaps," she allowed begrudgingly. "Even if I gained some, I was perpetually scared of it ever since. Jane said that when they brought me home, I kept my eyes shut so tight that they were worried I would never open them. Hill had gone and told me of an old wives' tale about a little boy who refused to open his eyes and then just never did."

"That is a rather interesting way to comfort a child," he actually tsked.

She smiled. "I was the kind of child who needed such warnings, and now during storms I wake up and walk about which is how I ended up here with you."

"Perhaps it is not too bad of a coping mechanism then."

"Perhaps," she echoed, "and now it is your turn."

His good humor completely disappeared from his expression and his face took up those serious lines she equated to him as he considered.

Realizing it might be for reasons too personal to divulge even to a stranger, Elizabeth conceded, "If you would rather not, the storm has died and you are free to keep your own counsel."

"It would be hardly fair considering what you have shared with me." He cleared his throat. "Besides, I am not a liar; sleep has not come easily to me as of late though what keeps me awake at such hours is of a sensitive nature."

It was her turn to consider him. "If it often keeps you up perhaps it would be best to talk to someone about it," she said eventually. "You needn't do everything on your own, Mr. Darcy."

He hesitated for a fraction of second before he admitted, "I had a nightmare."

She waited for him to continue, knowing any sound she made could be easily taken as a dismissal.

It was the understanding in her eyes that gave him courage enough to elaborate, "Last summer, my sister was involved in a scandal, one that we were able to avoid, but a scandal nonetheless. A man from my childhood, and her acquaintance, convinced her to elope with him in order to gain access to her sizable fortune."

Elizabeth took a sharp intake of breath. "She was the target of a fortune hunter…"

He nodded slowly, eyes narrowed ahead as if seeing the cad lingering somewhere in the room with them.

"The companion I procured for her was working with him and they schemed to get my sister to Bath, away from the protection of any of my acquaintances and family, and myself. They almost succeeded in marrying my sister off had she not written to me ahead to apologize for her intended actions."

She felt no need to say anything further for this seemed to be the opening of the dam for Mr. Darcy as he continued in quiet reverence as he cradled his head, elbows rested on his knees: "She is a sweet girl, my sister. She is only fifteen. She did not deserve such shame or betrayal by someone she thought she could trust."

"Sir, she is young," Elizabeth found herself soothing, "the poor thing probably had no idea."

"But she would not have even been in such a position had I not been more aware of Mrs. Younge's true nature or been more vigilant when I denied Wickham's advances for money only weeks earlier."

The man she was so familiar with: so disdainful, so superior was gone in an instant, and though she found herself unreasonably endeared to his vulnerability, Elizabeth reminded him firmly, "It is the fault of Mrs. Younge and this Wickham character solely. You need not punish yourself on behalf of them."

"But Georgiana -"

"Is likely grateful that you came for her, that you saved her from a loveless marriage to a fortune hunter," she interjected, "that her brother is so good as to ensure her protection of her person and her reputation that no one would ever speak of it. Including me."

He peeked out to her then between fingers tangled in his hair, and Elizabeth wondered if he regretted anything he just said.

In shame, she thought of his behavior, how he had been forced to interact, expected to feign delight at new acquaintances and merriment at balls. How awful it must have been to have to leave his sister, likely in the care of relatives, in order to attend to Mr. Bingley as previously arranged so no one would know –

And she did not help his situation with her own commentary of him on that fateful night at the Meryton Assembly, giving him grief at social events because she was slighted, because her pride was hurt.

Perhaps he was rude and perhaps he thought himself superior; openly wary of any mention of his ten thousand a year, but in such circumstances, she felt even a little of it was deserved.

"I believe you, you know, if you thought for a second that I did not," she said. "Everyone, even Miss Bingley knows how much you care for your sister. If it had been any of my siblings I…I would not be anywhere as good as presenting myself to the world as you," she admitted.

For several moments, they were quiet.

With a sigh, he reclined from his position, resting his head against the cushion as he allowed himself another moment of weakness, "I dream that I was not there in time, that I had failed her, and that thought of what would have become of her; it haunts me."

She found no words to comfort him and instead rested her hand upon his, and squeezed.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Miss Elizabeth, would you hate me for it?"

"She loves you, Mr. Darcy. She would not have written to apologize that day if she had no regrets about what she was to do."

"You did not answer my question though."

A small smile found itself tugging at her lips as she murmured, "No sir, I would not hate you for it. In fact, you would rise in my esteem for that alone, if you cared for such."

But I do, she thought she heard him say but by then, she had retracted her hand from his, reclined in the divan and allowed exhaustion to lull her to some semblance of sleep.

"Miss Elizabeth," he murmured, in the dying storm. "You will not tell anyone, will you?"

She chuckled. "You kept me company through my storm Mr. Darcy; your demons are safe with me."

 **A/n:** So this idea was bouncing around my head for a while and though I know it opens up possibilities of "How does the story change now that Elizabeth knows about Wickham?" and "How does P&P change now that she and Darcy seem to understand each other a little better?" **I won't be writing them. If you want to keep an eye on what I post, click FOLLOW AUTHOR, but this story is COMPLETE.**

Maybe exploring them briefly in one-shots, but frankly writing anything of chaptered length in the regency era for me is just plain exhausting.

In any case, I hope you enjoyed this one-shot, drop a review my way if you are so inclined.

Thanks for reading!


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